


Let’s get some dinner.

by sjaakiih



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28360230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sjaakiih/pseuds/sjaakiih
Summary: Something someone requested on Tumblr:Hi! Can I request a Sherlock x reader (a fic or headcanons, whatever you choose) where the reader is as destructive as he is? For example (and I'm not proud of this, trust me...) I've starved myself for long periods of time or randomly hurt myself, like banging my head on the wall. If you won't write this, for any reason, just let me know. Thank you so much!Possible TW: self harm, starvation, self-inflicted injuries.
Relationships: John Watson & Reader, Sherlock Holmes & Reader
Kudos: 9





	Let’s get some dinner.

Sometimes you’d get so engulfed into your work, or a case or something you were obsessing about, that everything around of you seemed to disappear. Sherlock usually had the same problem, he’d even given the ‘problem’ a name; his mind palace. And while you did not think that it was the same, John had walked in multiple times with the two of you, zoned out. If it wouldn’t be for John, the two of you would probably go on without any food for the rest of the day. Sometimes you’d go without food for more than two days, only to be reminded that you needed something in order to proces everything normally. It wasn’t that you did it on purpose. From a young age you had displayed behavior that others would deem harmful or destructive. All to yourself. And while your parents had tried multiple times to rid you of such behavior, it sort of sticked. Fortunately with some psychological help, and later on that of John and Sherlock, most of the damage would be minimal. 

Besides, not eating most of the time was great for your figure. 

As a young child you’d have mostly urges. To hit a wall. Or suddenly slam your head against the wall. There were other urges. More severe ones. There was one ‘accident’ with the knife. But after that you learned to suppress most urges. Neither you nor your parents ever wanted to experience that again. 

Now that you were an adult, living on your own, you no longer had the supervision of your parents. You’d chosen a place in the middle of London and quickly made friends with the famous detective and his friend. They looked out for you, and in some way you did the same for them. 

Most of the urges would quickly fade. And when you were near Sherlock or John, they would distract you. It was usual Sherlock who would recognize the certain facial expression you had. When you would be alone, there would be the occasional urge to slam your head. There was this one particular wall who seemed to trigger you. Which was why you’d spend most of your time in Sherlock and John’s apartment. A silent agreement the three of you had. They wouldn’t question you when you’d walk in, nor would the belittle you when you’d have one of your accidents. It was rare for John to have to patch you up. Fortunately. 

And while most of the times you went along with them on cases, this time you were in your own apartment. You weren’t certain anymore why. However you had followed the case closely. Something about a killer that would only kill certain people. Most of the victims looked like you. Which was probably why neither Sherlock or John wanted you to tag alone. Afraid of the danger they might put you in. 

So you decided to help them in your own way. Text certain details you had found. Or go online in order to find more information. A pattern maybe. You didn’t think about your environment, or the time. Only about the case and wanting to help out. You were kind of thirsty, however you had pushed the feeling away, not feeling the need to drink or eat. The only thing you did do, was shower when you felt like it. Just because it helped you think, before slipping back into a state of pure concentration. You were close. You could feel it. There was just one thing you were overlooking and you couldn’t stand it. You’d eat something later. Maybe tomorrow. But for now you just wanted to find the last piece of information you needed. Focussing on your screen made all the other urges disappear. Walking by the one wall did not seem to trigger anything, not with the case on your mind. The only thing you’d occasional do, was slam your knuckles on the table when you couldn’t find something. 

The sudden knock on your door startled you. Bringing you back to realization. “(Y/N)?”, you heard Sherlock’s voice on the other end of the door. You hadn’t heard him come back from the case. When you glanced outside you saw that it was dark. The only light coming from outside was one of the lampposts. You moved to stand, reaching out to open the door when you realized how cramped and painful your hand was. When you glanced down you noticed the blood. shit. While Sherlock or John never berated you for your destructive behavior, you could tell that it disappointed them. So when you opened your door, you hid your hand behind of your back, flashing him a smile. “Hey there Sher. How’s the case? Any details you can share?” you stepped aside when he moved inside of your home. He glanced at you for a few seconds before taking in the room. Obviously deducting what had happened here for the past.. hours? What time was it?

“Solved it yesterday actually”, Sherlock turned around so he could look at you. Your raised eyebrow made him smile, however it was quick to fade. Had he known you were trying to solve the case as well, he would have come and visited you earlier. But he had been so busy, so occupied that when John mentioned your name earlier he realized that something was off. 

Before you could speak Sherlock spoke again. Taking in your form as he explained how he had cracked the case. You groaned, slightly annoyed that the answer had been so obvious. “When was the last time you ate?” he suddenly asked, making you frown. It had been a while, you knew that yourself. And by the way Sherlock was asking it, you were certain he could tell. With your hand still ‘casually’ behind your back you stepped closer. Looking at the bottle of water next to your laptop. It was half empty. “When did we have dinner again”, it was after that when Sherlock received a text and left you, muttering about the murder. “Three days ago”, he squinted slightly at you, approaching you and putting his hand on your back so he could guide you out of your house. The tone of voice alongside with the realization that it had been three days since you ate something, made you cringe. 

You could feel you stomach hurting, and while you ignored the feeling while you were alone, now that you were in the presence of Sherlock it only stung more. The fact that you did it again. Not only did you disappoint yourself, you disappointed other people by your actions as well, and that seemed to hurt more. You didn’t speak, just walked along Sherlock as he guided you in his room. John was about to greet you, but he read the grim expression on your face and raised an eyebrow at Sherlock. You didn’t watch the exchange, but knew that John was quickly informed of the situation. “John, grab the first aid kid, (Y/N) seems to have hurt their hand”, Sherlock moved to his chair, watching you as he had you on his couch. You couldn’t read his emotions, however you felt scared by the way he eyed you. Your parents were sweet. They had done their best by helping you out. But in situations like this they would lose their cool. Your mom would cry most of the time, your dad would shout. Both not understanding what was going on in that head of yours. 

However Sherlock was not your mom or dad. He had never raised his voice with you. “I’m sorry”, you mumbled, not wanting to speak up or acknowledge that you had done something so stupid. Sherlock had guided you to his room, because he had realized before you did, that you were to weak to move on your own. Going without food for three days had made your head fuzzy and light. John sat beside you, taking your hand so he could look at it. You did the same. Seeing the bruising, the dried up blood around the knuckles. It wasn't broken, you could tell the difference. But it was sure going to hurt for a while. John’s smile was warm. He looked tired, but he never seemed too tired to take care of you. He was too good. 

Sherlock gave you a smile of his own. They were rare. But they meant a lot to you. “Let’s get you something to eat shall we?” it was late, too late to go somewhere, but not too late to order something in. While John tended to your hand, Sherlock ordered you something to eat while he discussed the case. He was curious how far you had gotten. Maybe he just wanted to see what you had came up on your own, but at the same time he was trying to understand your pattern. He had made a mental list of whatever triggered these self-destructive behaviors. He had spoken multiple times to John about you. Checking whether he was missing something just so he could help you. Knowing that his presence made it easier for you, he had no problem in taking you under his wing.

You’d felt like a freak. But with John and Sherlock near you, you knew that there was nothing to be ashamed of.


End file.
